Hair Trouble
by Nalanzu
Summary: Fluffy bit of lunacy resulting from the statement: "Yeah, well, I wouldn't trust any of the Gundam boys with a pair of scissors."


Quatre Reberba Winner walked happily through the halls, a steaming cup of tea in one hand. All five Gundam pilots in one place on Earth, no immediate battles to fight, and… Quatre screeched to a halt in front of a mirror. Frowning, he inched closer, fingering his hair. Split. Ends. There were split ends. He spun on his heel and stalked off. "Rasid!!" 

"Yes, Master Quatre?" 

"I want a pair of scissors, Rasid." 

"Yes, Master Quatre." 

Quatre grabbed the scissors and went back to the mirror, leaving the tea behind. He carefully trimmed off every split end he could find. When he was finished, there was no discernable difference. Nonetheless, he gave a satisfied nod, and put the scissors in his belt. As he walked away from the mirror, a familiar black-haired head moved down the corridor. "Wufei," Quatre muttered. "There must be motor oil in that hair to get it to stay back like that. It needs to come out." First, though, preparations needed to be made. Quatre grinned wildly, and laughed out loud. One of the passing random people looked at him strangely, and Quatre broke off. Preparations, preparations. First, Quatre filled a bath with warm water. Then he set up soap, towels, and a comb. And then it was time to go Wufei-hunting. 

Wufei looked surprised when Quatre approached him. "Yes?" 

"I need you to come with me," Quatre said seriously. 

"Why?" 

"Just… I… I need your help." 

"You are weak." 

"Well," Quatre cast around for an answer. "That's why I need your help." 

"Very well." 

Once he had been led into the prepared room, however, Wufei became suspicious. "What's all this for?" 

Quatre locked the door, a wild gleam in his eyes. 

"What are you doing?" Wufei asked, circling around to the other side of the bathtub. 

Quatre tackled Wufei and dragged the other pilot back to the bathtub kicking and screaming. 

He held Wufei down by sheer determination and scrubbed his hair. After he finished, he tied the now-clean black hair back with a little pink bow and strolled casually out of the room. 

He ran – literally – into Heero a few minutes later. "Oh, sorry, Heer-" he paused. "Hold still." 

"What?" Heero asked, confused. 

"Hold very, very still." 

"Quatre, you –" 

Quatre pulled a comb out of his back pocket and attacked Heero's tangled hair. 

"Quatre, what the hell are you doing?" Heero twisted away. 

"Tangles. No tangles," Quatre mumbled, and threw himself bodily at Heero, knocking him to the ground. He then proceeded to sit on top of the Japanese pilot until every trace of a tangle had been removed from the other boy's hair, and tied the top with a little pink bow. The hair was noticeably flatter when he finally let Heero stand up. 

"Quatre, you've gone crazy and I have to kill you." Heero started to pull his gun, but at the sight of Quatre's calm smile, he backed away slowly. 

"Now, who's next?" The sight of Duo's long braid put a dangerous grin on the Arabian pilot's face. "I bet he has lots of split ends." Brandishing the scissors, he pursued the longhaired pilot. 

Duo heard him coming. "Quatre!" He started to grin. The grin faded when he saw the light in Quatre's eyes, paired with the scissors. "What are you doing?" he asked nervously. 

"Split ends," Quatre explained in a reasonable tone of voice. 

"Get away from me." Duo started backing away. 

"They need to be fixed," Quatre elaborated. 

"Oh no you don't!" Duo started running. Quatre replaced the scissors in his belt and gave chase. After a few minutes, he stopped. This was getting him nowhere. He needed to be ready. "You can't start a mission without preparation." 

Preparation this time included duct tape, rope, a comb, a brush, and wickedly sharp scissors. Then the renewed pursuit of Duo began. Quatre slipped through the halls silently, avoiding all other people. "Duo must be hiding." Quatre grinned. "I'll find him." In the end, Quatre bodily dragged Duo back to the room. "Now hold still." 

"Get off me!" Duo yelled. 

"I'm doing this for your own good. If you don't hold still, I'm going to have to restrain you." 

Duo struggled harder. Quatre sighed. Four ropes and entire roll of duct tape later, he picked up a brush and unbraided Duo's hair. He carefully brushed it out, all three and a half feet. Then he combed it and hunted down the split ends. All in all, he cut less than an inch total, but Duo was white-faced and shaking by the time Quatre braided his hair again and tied it with a little pink bow. Then he untied Duo and peeled off the tape. Duo curled into a fetal position around his hair. "I'm finished now," Quatre said helpfully. Duo watched him, wide-eyed, until Quatre got far enough away. The next thing Quatre saw was the long haired pilot dashing out of the room. 

"Three down, one left to go." Quatre meticulously cleaned up the rope and the duct tape. After all, without organization, chaos would rule. And chaos was completely unacceptable. Like split ends. 

Trowa, by now, had gotten word that there was something wrong. However, he made a strategic mistake in trying to talk Quatre down. Quatre had him tied to a chair before he got three sentences out. 

"Now, Quatre..." Trowa began nervously. 

"Your hair needs to be trimmed," the Arabian pilot told him seriously. Here, though, he ran into a problem. The scissors were incapable of making a dent in what appeared to be the vast amounts of shellac in Trowa's hair. "Wait here. I'll be back." He started to leave, and then paused. "Just to make sure you don't make any noise..." He taped Trowa's mouth shut and went in search of hedge clippers. 

Thirty-three random sheds and cupboards later, Quatre found what he was looking for. The shellac succumbed, although Trowa narrowly avoided various cuts to his face. "Sorry about that," Quatre said cheerfully after one particularly near hit. When finished, Trowa's hair (although slightly shorter) now bore no sign of split ends. Quatre tied a pink bow in it and skipped away. 

"All five done." He yawned. Hair trimming was fatiguing. He made his way to his bedroom, curled up around the scissors, and fell asleep. He hadn't been there for more than five minutes when Trowa stormed in, followed by Wufei, Heero, and a very reluctant Duo. 

"Wait!" Rasid stopped them just as Wufei opened his mouth. The tall bodyguard held an empty teacup. "Which one of you put anti-psychotics in Master Quatre's tea?" 

A volume of protests arose from everyone except Duo, who was trying to sneak out the door. Heero hauled him back. 

"What?! It wasn't me, either!" he said after a moment. 

"Sir?" One of the Maganac soldiers entered the room. "Lady Une of Oz was here." He held up a pink bow in explanation. "We caught her on the security camera, and there's some sort of chemical residue on the bow." He ducked back out of the room. 

"So it wasn't Quatre's fault?" Wufei asked after a moment of silence. 

"What wasn't my fault?" Quatre blinked and sat up. "What are these scissors doing in my bed?" He took a closer look at the room full of pilots staring at him. "Why do you guys all have little pink bows in your hair?" 


End file.
